


What We Are

by linndechir



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Obsession, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-28 18:20:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7651714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan had always hated how easily Declan flirted with the rest of the world, like he belonged there more than he did here, like he really thought he could fit in with the rest of them if he only tried hard enough to hide who he really was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



Ronan had spent many nights of his childhood lying in the dark, waiting for the familiar rumble of a car outside that marked his father's return home. Whenever he'd heard it, he'd closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, because he knew that Niall would come up to his room, step through the moonlight that fell in through the cracks in the curtains, sit down on the edge of Ronan's bed and run his fingers through his hair. And he'd laugh because he knew Ronan was only pretending, he'd lean down and kiss his hair and whisper, “I always know when you're dreaming.”

That, Ronan was used to. What was new was lying in the dark and waiting for Declan to come home. Declan had always been there even when Niall had been gone for weeks, but ever since he'd grown old enough to drive – or rather old enough to drive officially, old enough to have a car of his own – he'd been out late every other night. Not so late that their parents would mind – not with Declan, responsible and careful and dependable like he hadn't only just turned sixteen – but late enough that it had started to bother Ronan. 

He'd drifted off into a fitful sleep despite wanting to stay awake, and startled from it with something dark haunting the edges of his consciousness, something thorny and angry slithering through the familiar forests of his mind, branches groaning in a putrid wind, and his face was clammy with sweat when he sat up on the bed. His hands were wet, he realised when he looked down at them, wet from rain and smelling faintly of rotten wood. At least he hadn't brought anything else with him this time.

The sound of creaking wood hadn't stopped. Regular steps, he realised, someone climbing up the stairs and then crossing the corridor. Declan then. Only Niall could move over the wooden stairs and floors of the Barns without a sound.

Ronan listened and waited, tried not to count the seconds, like he didn't know Declan's routine by heart. He waited until the door to Declan's room closed, then forced himself to wait another five minutes before he got up. 

The corridor was almost pitch black, the wood felt warm and alive underneath his feet. The Barns were always darker when Niall wasn't there, no matter how bright the moon or the stars shone in the night sky, no matter how much light fell in through the windows. Their life had never come from the outside.

Ronan didn't knock, didn't ask for invitation nor permission before he planted himself on the edge of Declan's bed. His brother's eyes were open, unsurprised, like he'd been expecting him. He sat up, too, but without looking at Ronan. A navy blue tshirt clang to his shoulders, his biceps, the fabric a bit too tight around his muscles. Most shirts had been looking too tight on Declan for the past year, no matter how often he bought new ones, he'd been growing so fast. As children they had sometimes almost looked like twins, but these days Ronan felt like a little boy next to his brother, scrawny and skinny and too damn young.

He hadn't meant to say anything and still blurted out, “Did you go out with whatshername again?”

“Her name is Amelia.” Declan shot him a half-hearted glare. “You could really bother to remember it.”

Ronan felt the anger from his dream well up in him again, itching in his fists, hot under the dampness from the rain. Suddenly he couldn't remember anymore if something had been hunting him in his dream, or if he'd been the hunter, running through wet leaves, branches slapping his face, trying to catch something that kept slipping from rain-slick fingers.

“Fuck her,” he said, then sneered with disgust. “You probably did.”

He'd always hated how easily Declan flirted with the rest of the world, like he belonged there more than he did here, like he really thought he could fit in with the rest of them if he only tried hard enough to hide who he really was. Desperate for approval, Ronan had called him once during an argument, but that wasn't it. Declan wasn't desperate for anything, he just soaked up the world's adoration like the ground did the first autumn rain, as if mom and dad and Ronan and Matthew weren't enough for him. Ronan hated how easily Declan could pretend that he didn't need them, just because he could have everything else.

“That's none of your fucking business, Ronan,” Declan said. “So what if I did? That's what people do, you know?”

Ronan had seen Declan with her, a boring blonde with a vapid smile, an accessory for Declan's public face the same way his friends were and his disgustingly sensible car and his good grades and that pearl-white smile he'd stolen from an election poster instead of a storm. He hated her, too, and he hated how Declan was around her. He hated the way she giggled when Declan put his hand on the small of her back and leant in to kiss her temple, like something he'd seen in a stupid movie, or just something he'd seen other people do.

 _It's not what we do_ , he wanted to say. So he said it with his hands gripping the tight fabric of Declan's shirt, holding on to his shoulders while he straddled him, moving fast so he couldn't talk himself out of this before he was right where he wanted to be, pressed flush against Declan. He smashed his lips against his brother's almost angrily, only relented when he tasted nothing but mint on his lips.

Declan's arms were around him in an instant, their grip warm and tight, one hand sliding up to curl into Ronan's hair and hold him in place so he could return the kiss, impatient like this had been what he'd been thinking about all night, all night that he'd been pretending to be the kind of guy who wanted to date a pretty blonde idiot and not the kind of guy who kissed his brother senseless in the dark.

Kissing Declan was like running through the rain in a thunderstorm, like lightning striking through the midnight black sky, like there was no world outside of this, of them. Kissing Declan was like dreaming, like his father's laughter, like following Gansey through the hills of Virginia and listening to him talk about ancient Welsh kings like they still mattered.

And then Declan pulled away, like he could simply will a storm to abide, and shook his head.

“Fuck, Jesus, Ronan, we talked about this.” His fingers were still in Ronan's hair, their grip tight the way it got when Declan had to keep his hand from shaking. “This needs to stop.”

“Bullshit.” Declan's touch went right under his skin, into his bones and his blood. They'd moved past the point where they could have exorcised this hunger from their flesh when they'd first done this, when Declan had first kissed the blood off Ronan's split lip after a sparring fight, when their eyes had met and they'd both known how fucked up this was, even for them, that this wasn't even allowed in a dream – and they still hadn't stopped. They'd invited the demon in, and Declan was a fool if he believed that he could just make him leave again.

Like he wasn't rock hard in his boxers, like his eyes weren't wide with want, like his hands didn't cling to Ronan's body like a lifeline.

Ronan dug his teeth into Declan's bottom lip, delighted in the way Declan's hips jerked up like his body wasn't his own. Hunger gnawed at him and need, he shuddered when Declan leant his forehead against his.

“If Dad knew about this –” Declan's voice cracked and failed him.

They both stilled for a moment. It wasn't the first time Declan had said those words, and he never finished the sentence. Truth be told, Ronan had no idea what their father would do if he knew. He wasn't even sure if Niall _didn't_ , in fact, know, Niall and his knowing smiles, who seemed to know just about everything that happened at the Barns even in his absence. If he knew, he'd never said a word. And if he didn't … it wasn't as if Niall would ever try to separate them, not after a lifetime of telling Declan that his brothers were his to protect. 

“Dad made us the way we are,” Ronan whispered, his lips moving against Declan's cheekbone. “You're the one who keeps trying to be something else.”

The smile that flitted over Declan's face had a sadness to it that Ronan couldn't explain, a wistfulness almost. Part of Ronan wanted to ask, but that would have meant acknowledging that Declan had any damn reason to be sad. And then Declan's hands were on his cheeks, framing his face while he kissed him again, slow and deep and tender, and Ronan's chest tightened.

Declan didn't resist when Ronan pushed him down onto his back, even went further than that and flipped them over, his weight pressing Ronan's body into the mattress, heavy and warm like he belonged right there on top of him. His kisses were wild and rough and stole the breath from Ronan's lungs, made him moan an shiver and arch up into Declan's every touch like it was life itself. Like his father, like his brother, Declan was still an untamed storm underneath his veneer of respectability, and Ronan loved nothing more than to shred those lies to pieces and claw his way into the truth of who his brother was.

It was a comfort at least that none of Declan's girls and none of his friends truly knew him, that none of them had ever seen him like this, with thunder in his eyes and his teeth bared against Ronan's skin, his hands as gentle as they were hungry when they took what they wanted.

Declan might try and try again to belong to the outside world, to pretend that he was one of them just because he hadn't inherited their father's gift, but he had to know deep down that he could never escape who they truly were. Ronan didn't plan on ever letting him forget.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic grew a bit from the fact that Ronan doesn't seem to _get_ Declan most of the time, because he doesn't really see why Declan would want other things from life than him. I think that's pretty clear in canon, and I figure in a different way that must have already been an issue before their relationship went to shit. I'm not sure if that really comes through in Ronan's POV, but I hope it does at least a little. And even if it doesn't, I hope that you still enjoyed this fic, dear recip. :)


End file.
